


The Warmth of Your Hands

by slushiepuff



Category: The New Pope (TV), The Young Pope (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pastry-Induced Feelings, Secret Santa, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:53:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28294125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slushiepuff/pseuds/slushiepuff
Summary: Returning from England, Mario finds himself suffering from a cold. He can't claim too much suffering with Bernardo insisting on taking care of him, however.
Relationships: Mario Assente/Bernardo Gutiérrez
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	The Warmth of Your Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Erasing_Mike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erasing_Mike/gifts).



> This is a Secret Santa gift for Erasing-Mike on The Vatican discord server!

It starts with an itch in the back of his throat.

Nothing significant, really, and almost to be expected in the dusty confines of the Vatican surrounded by antiquities long untouched. Mario figures he had simply gotten used to all the fresh air during their brief visit to Brannox manor. 

If it takes a little longer than usual that morning to get out of bed, it is because of the rushed trip to and back from England in the last few days. After all, travelling wears on one's stamina and, for all that Mario is the youngest of the Cardinals, he is not as young as he used to be.

-

At breakfast Mario finds himself nursing a caffè latte, a diversion from his usual espresso but this morning he is more preoccupied with chasing away what he’s suspecting is developing into a cough than having a simple shot of energy to get on with his day. He closes his eyes as he savours the soothing warmth on his scratchy throat and chilled hands that are wrapped around his cup and wonders why he doesn’t do this more often.

As though anticipating his thoughts, there is a clattering of plates being placed on the table accompanied by the grating sound of a chair sliding on the floor as someone settles across from him. _To linger is to open oneself to conversation_ , he thinks with disdain, _first thing in the morning, no less_. Thankfully his unsolicited companion remains silent and Mario allows himself a few more moments to fortify himself against what is sure to be inane morning conversation.

With a preemptive long-suffering sigh, Mario opens his eyes to identify the intruder.

And freezes mid breath.

Bernardo.

Mario straightens in his seat, attempting some semblance of politeness with the rest of his breath only to be betrayed by his own body before a greeting can be spoken. The cough is mild but Bernardo looks concerned nonetheless although he gives Mario the courtesy of not commenting on it. Instead takes a long sip of his coffee, allowing Mario the time to recover by washing away the remnants of his coughing fit with his own drink and the chance to begin the conversation on his own terms.

‘Good morning,’ he wants to say, although it feels somewhat disingenuous today. He places his cup down with a delicate clink, readying to speak, except his eyes catch on the plate in front of him. Mario blinks.

“You got me a cornetto.” He glances up from under his eyelashes to see Bernardo staring resolutely at his own plate, loaded in comparison to Mario’s single pastry, and pink hue to his cheeks that had definitely not been there before. They both ignore the slightly raspy quality his voice has gained.

Bernardo clears his throat and replies with poorly feigned nonchalance, “I noticed you hadn’t picked anything up.” 

“I don’t normally eat breakfast, a coffee is more than enough.” Mario gestures to his coffee, half empty and foam long dissipated. It doesn’t make for a very convincing case.

There’s a pause as Bernardo peers dubiously into the cup, although he is kind enough to keep his remarks to himself. “You don’t have to eat it,” he says instead. However, the words ‘but you should’ are made evident in the small crease that appears between his eyebrows.

Rather than continuing the conversation when Mario remains silent on the matter, Bernardo finally picks up his utensils and busies himself with the butter and jam.

Meanwhile, Mario is left to contemplate the singular cornetto occupying his plate.

There’s odd intimacy to the unexpected presence of the pastry in front of him as it sits there airy and fragile, completely oblivious to the crushing weight of significance it carries. While nothing had changed outwardly after their awkward evening in Brannox Manor, the ghost of Mario’s proposition and Bernardo’s subsequent rejection had become a shadow over all their interactions. Yet with this cornetto, Mario feels that lingering presence far less keenly.

It feels like a peace offering — unnecessary though it is, afterall Bernardo had done nothing wrong. The swell of affection that bubbles in his chest says otherwise but Mario ignores it in favour of picking up the pastry with his long fingers and nibbles on one of the crispy ends. It does nothing to hide the tiny smile lifting the corners of his mouth but the illusion of privacy is nice.

It’s soft and a little sweet, care and thoughtfulness infused into each bite. When he looks up, it’s to a pleased shine to Bernardo’s eyes that Mario can’t help but reflect.

Despite his lack of appetite, by the time they part for their respective meetings Mario has finished half the pastry. Not even the mild fatigue of illness prevents him from walking on air for the rest of the day.


End file.
